


i walked her home, for the last time

by InkStainsOnMyHands



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Golden Age Hollywood, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Period-Typical Transphobia, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-15 01:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14148816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkStainsOnMyHands/pseuds/InkStainsOnMyHands
Summary: A memoir.Or,The true story behind the deaths of Francesca Valenzuela and Sean Aleksander.





	i walked her home, for the last time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MercurySkies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurySkies/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> This is probably the saddest thing I have ever written, but it has a happy ending, so there's that. 
> 
> For the _The Buzzfeed Creation Challenge_ prompt "First Fight". 
> 
> Please check out my partner's fic, [Quirks](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14121132) which is infinitely better than this piece of garbage. Reminder: MercurySkies is a beautiful person!

The press tour for his memoir was brutal on Brent’s old bones, but his publicist insisted he continue accepting interview requests despite the protests of his previously unused joints. After all, according to her, no one reads books anymore, unless you get a movie deal, and you only get a movie deal if you get the right attention. 

 

Brent wanted to argue (to scream, to cry, to bellow and shout) that the book wasn’t about the money, but about finally bringing recognition to a true Hollywood tragedy, mired in rumor and falsehood for far too long. But, he figured, their goals were one in the same in the end. 

 

Oh, if only Sean were to see him then, sitting across from a journalist, just one of a long line of them, ready to reveal all of his secrets; he would roll in his grave. 

 

“So,” the pretty young woman before him began. There was a wistfulness in her eyes, and the smile upon her painted lips echoed a certain kind of nostalgic softness. “Tell me about Sean and Francesca.” 

* * *

Francesca was exotic; that’s what made her a star. She was the counterpoint to Marilyn's blonde bombshell appearance, attractive for being quite the opposite. A tomboy both on and off the screen, the ebony-haired, bronze-skinned beauty did away with adhering to gender roles, even during an age where such neglect of ideologies was not quite yet fashionable.

 

And having been Sean’s personal assistant for years, Brent knew Sean well enough to realize that one look at her and he would be smitten. 

 

Francesca was far more subtle about her attraction for the six-foot-four actor, but she felt just as much affection for him as he did for her.

 

The only problem was her marriage, and good catholic girls did not get divorced back in those days. 

 

* * *

 

“But, you’ll sleep with me?” Sean asked one night, starting a conversation Brent wasn’t meant to overhear. 

 

Granted, it was impossible not to overhear it. They were all trapped in the same hotel suite with only a thin wall separating his bedroom from the couple’s. But, he should have been a gentleman and left. 

 

Why hadn’t he left? 

 

“Sean - we’ve been doing this for years. Why are you bringing this up now?” There was a desperate edge to her exasperation. 

 

“Because I don’t want to spend another year in the dark, darling. I want to marry you. I want to have a family with you.” 

 

“I’ve told you - I don’t want to have children.” 

 

“Maybe not with  _ him _ -“ 

 

“With no one. You know how I feel about my body, what that would do to me. That’s beside the point -“ 

 

“No it’s not! Darling, sweetheart, you’ve said it yourself: I’m the only person who has tried to understand that you’re not a woman on the inside. Isn’t that enough for you to see I’m the right man for you?” Sean’s voice rose, spilling the anger, sorrow, and vexation he had held in until that moment. 

 

Brent heard weeping for an extraordinarily long time. 

 

With a wet voice, he heard Francesca murmur softly, “I can’t divorce my husband. I just can’t do that to my family. What would they think?” 

 

A long, drawn-out sigh echoed throughout the other room. “You regularly wear men’s clothes, cut your hair short, espouse how women shouldn’t just be housewives and mothers, decry the lack of equality between the sexes, but you won’t get a divorce?” 

 

“If you can’t see how those things are different, than you’re not the right man for me after all!” The sudden shouting shocked Brent. 

 

“So after all these years, huh? LOOK AT ME!” Then, there was a commotion; a heavy thud and subsequent rattling creating a horrific cacophony. That was enough for Brent to leap from his bed and race from his room to Sean’s. 

 

Without preamble, he tore open the door. The scene was enough for his heart to drop into his lurching stomach. A writing desk was on its side, the contents of which were strewn about the floor. Francesca sat just behind it, cowering, with her legs tucked tightly against her abdomen. 

 

The image was so strange it was difficult to process, and for a while, he thought he might have been dreaming. For all of Francesca’s masculine bravado, she seemed so small in that moment. Similarly, Sean, red-faced and nearly snarling, was such a contrast to his usual timid, mild-mannered self. 

 

What malevolent spirit had overtaken them both that night? 

 

Sean recovered first, straightening his suit, squaring his shoulders, and standing a little straighter. He took a single breath before saying, “Please escort Ms. Valenzuela to her room. Afterwards, call my agent and let him know I’ll be dropping out of the project. It seems she and I are no longer compatible.” 

 

Brent felt the room fall under his feet. He threw a subtle glance at Francesca, who appeared as if she had been physically struck by the statement. Regardless, no words escaped her gaping maw. Instead, she gathered herself, stood, and began to walk out of the room. Brent followed her. 

* * *

Brent never saw Francesca again after escorting her to her own hotel suite. 

 

Brent should have known something was wrong when she gently whispered, with a heavy, thick sadness he had never heard from anyone before, “You won’t need to call his agent.” 

 

“I know,” Brent replied. “He’ll calm down. Just give him some time to cool off.” 

 

Francesca nodded. The expression upon her face as she closed the door would forever be etched behind Brent’s eyelids.

 

* * *

 

Sean’s cause of death was ruled as untreated pneumonia. It was rare, but certainly not odd, in those days, for even celebrities to simply fall ill and pass away at a young age. Everyone bought the story at face value. No one but Brent knew the truth for decades.

 

It was only after letters between the pair were discovered in the basement of Francesca’s departed widow’s home that the secret was revealed; Sean passed away from a broken heart, just as Francesca had. 

 

It was ironic, really. Francesca took pills to end her life, while Sean refused to take pills to save his life. 

 

Brent ached to think of it. Sean’s death was slow and agonizing; he suffocated himself on the infectious liquid filling his lungs little by little. No matter Brent’s pleas for him to take his antibiotics, he refused. “I want to be with her,” were his last words. 

* * *

  
  


“And I just hope that somewhere, out there, in the next life or in another life, they’re happy together,” Brent said passed the lump in his throat. 

 

* * *

 

Brent’s grandson also wanted to interview him for his media company,  _ Buzzfeed _ . It was a far more private, impersonal affair in comparison to the other appearances he had made. He appreciated being able to sit in his own chair, in his own living room, speaking to his own family about the secret he had held. 

 

Except, it would seem that his namesake was far more interested in what was happening on his phone than right in front of him. 

 

“What are you looking at?” he snapped. 

 

His grandson peered up. “Hmm? Oh, just, my friends. They posted a funny video.” He turned the phone in his palm towards Brent. 

 

Brent was suddenly transported to the early sixties. Francesca and Sean, dressed in modern clothes, were teasing one another in between bellows of laughter. Their smiles dazzled, filling his body with a warmth he hadn't experienced in a long, long time. The twinkling in their eyes was so familiar, Brent felt as if he had come home after a long journey. 

 

“What are their names?” Brent asked without thinking. 

 

“Shane and Ryan, they have their own show at my company, they’re pretty popular,” his grandson explained offhandedly. 

 

“Are they happy?” 

 

His grandson paused, bewilderment deepening the lines of his face. “Uh, yeah, I would hope so. They’re getting married next month.”

 

Brent smiled. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments validate my existence :D


End file.
